


Out There In The Cold

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookstores, Candy, Christmas Fluff, Christmas market, London, M/M, Soho, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 15:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12797214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Crowley wants to go to the Christmas Market in Leicester Square.





	Out There In The Cold

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale looked down at the pile of books he had just rearranged on the floor to look particularly unappealing, ‘where’ve you gone?’

To any stranger, and indeed to the woman currently wondering why an account of the mid-twentieth century Soviet Union had been shelved between a vegan cookbook and a pamphlet from the American National Park Service, it appeared as though the proprietor of the bookshop was looking for the snake that had been contentedly coiled around the plastic ingenico credit card reader on the table that was sort-of-but-not-really a check out counter only moments before.

‘Oh dear. Not today. You’ll freeze out there...’

‘Lost your associate, Mr. Fell?’ the customer inquired politely.

‘Don’t touch anything from before 1975 or printed in the last four months. Or any of the literary non-fiction, or-’

‘I understand. You can go look for your snake.’

‘And don’t go in the back room.’

‘Understood.’

‘I’d really rather you leave so I can lock up.’

‘How do you know he went outside?’

‘Because he’s stupid.’

Aziraphale managed to steer the customer out the door and generally in the direction of the coffee shop further down the street. Then he turned around to see a familiar figure at the end of the next block merging into the crowd crossing the road, hands shoved into newly materialized pockets. 

Aziraphale sighed. He caught up to Crowley near the corner of Leicester Square Christmas market.

‘All I said was that it was overpriced and that I’d rather not-’

‘Rather not what, angel?’

‘I’d rather stay inside. What were you thinking going out the door as a snake? You could get stepped on.’

‘Only one person who does that.’

‘You shouldn’t be on the floor. You never get out of the way.’

‘I have bruises d’you know that?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ooh! Look at this!’ Crowley had picked up a long piece of blue and white jelly candy that was moulded in the shape of a snake.

‘If you touch it you buy it,’ the person minding the stall pronounced saccharinely.

‘Isn’t that like, cannibalism...’

‘Hmm?’ Crowley had bitten the head off of the jelly snake.

‘It’s the same thing as you.’

‘There are people shaped candies, like- What are those things... Sour babies?’

‘Jelly babies?’

‘Sour Patch Kids?

‘Aren’t those American?’

‘Dunno.’

‘You could have shared,’ Aziraphale said finally, watching the tail of the snake disappear between the demon’s teeth.

‘That’d be awkward, like, you know that movie where they’re eating pasta from either end?’

‘Lady and the Tramp?’

‘That’s the one.’ Crowley walked over to the next nearest stall, returning his hands to his pockets.

‘Are those supposed to be angels?’ Aziraphale asked idly, looking over the figures carved in tree bark.

‘That one’s you.’ Crowley nodded at one of the statues.

‘Just because it’s holding a book doesn’t mean it’s me.’

‘Yeah it does.’

‘It’s singing.’

‘You do that, a sort of-’ Crowley imitated the humming noise Aziraphale made when he was trying to distract himself.

‘That’s not singing.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Do you need a hat?’ Aziraphale gestured to a display of headgear that would have looked more at home in eighteenth century Russia.

‘Don’t like fur.’

‘It’s fake.’

‘Even worse.’

‘What about a scarf?’

‘Have a scarf.’

‘A bruise coloured knit ribbon doesn’t count as a scarf.’

‘Didn’t say it was a functional scarf.’

‘You’re always getting cold.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you want to go home?’

‘If you do.


End file.
